“You know what I hate? I hate love.
You bring yourself open and on the shiny dish, completely unarmed and almost willing to be hurt. I mean, seriously, what is this all about? You find some stranger of preferable gender – and you might not even see each other a single bloody time for the whole lives of yours – and then it begins. Chemistry, empathy, simpathy… Bullshit.
Don’t think that I don’t believe in love. Oh, indeed I do. The problem is.. Well, let’s look at the whole picture closely, take it all step by step.
First step. To find.
Where do you find such a person? Could be anywhere, and this game of chances, this lottery with several different way to win – it’s so close to agony. You may spend the whole life – and die alone in a cold bed with dozen of diseases blurting inside your blood flow and body. You may die, as some did, on someone nice (literally, during sex) because of a sudden heart attack. You may have every step planned – and die the next second, right away!.. You see, people tend to take everything that may be considered as “resource” or “tool” as for granted.
“Live? Of course, I don’t have my death arranged on Friday dinner, why?” . ” Water? Of course, I drink water, and it’s all fine, why do you ask?”.
We’re alone in a cold dark of outside space, and I’m talking not about our planet, but about us. What do you know about me? What do I know about you? After all, what do I know about myself? Who am I? What drives me, what excites me, what makes me crazy, what makes me ANYTHING? And you won’t give away such information to someone you don’t know, will you? And here you go, circle closed. The only way is to give away. But you have to know what to give away in order to do so. So, what do you seek? Ask yourself, multiple times (at least one or two dozens), and probably consider making a list of what you REALLY want to see in the person.
Where to find? It all depends on you and on the list.
Second step is to be right and to become a happy couple. But here’s the catch. What is love?
I ask you, what is love? Dead romance of dead centuries, full of roses, violet velvet and sacrifice for the sake of? Modern love, mostly growing on a sudden morning thoughts, like “well, it was a great night, maybe we should get to know each other better?” ? Cyber-love, when you will have everything you’ve ever wanted for a small price of your humanity? What, I said something wrong, something offensive? Right, there’s nothing more inhuman than to simulate long-distance relationship with total stranger. I know what they say – “everyone has his own choice, so don’t judge and open up your mind, blah-blah-blah”. I may be even agree with some parts, but – will you ever consider any kind of balance between years of chatting and shit, and a small, but bursting with love kiss? I say – fuck you, if you picked the first. We’ve got online, we lost the sight of the real world right away. You find love in social network? Send me a link, I will press “like”, just so you knew your love IS SO AWESOME PEOPLE TEND TO LIKE THE SINGLE FACT OF ITS EXISTANCE. It’s a sarcasm, if you were nice enought to think otherwise. It makes me sick, truth be told. All these “relationship statuses”, “why did she like your photo” and the whole bloody load of junk – straight inside your mind. Or from the inside? I tend to think, it’s two-way road, but that’s just me. Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
Ok, say you’ve found each other. You both start trying to get to know each other – in your own way, both of you. And if you see something in common, it drives you crazy. It’s almost a whisper “you’re right, don’t fuck it up”. But, most likely, you will. Or your beloved person will. Or something totally out of the blue will “help” the situation.
So what do you do when you’re collapsed? Friends, drinks, drugs, weed, alcohol and random sex, games and joining a players’ community, going “deep inside”, becoming as religious as a monk, or, maybe, immoral party-hard wanna-be nothing, ruin of your own self that once upon the time was loved for what it was. It’s all about people when it comes to the ways of running from – or charging towards, but in the end it’s too personal, and I don’t really give a fuck about how do you handle your sudden puberty-came-once-again times. I have my methods, and they work for me. Fuck you :3
Is there any love? Maybe there is. It became rithorical question even before our grand-grands were brought to this world, so don’t feel down if you can’t answer in five seconds with all the confidentiality you’ve ever had. Is there any love for you? Maybe there is, multiplied by the number of people who could really be the “lost” part of you, your soulmates, born to enlighten your life, and then divided by the number of human population at the moment. What? 7+ billions? Well, it’s not some “easy level arcade game”, this is life. The Life, darn. You have something wrong with it? Either work it out or get the fuck away from the boat.
Maybe there’s a sirene waiting for you in the depth of the dark ocean you’ll face. Oh no, there’s none. Just for you. Why? Because fuck you, that’s why. Why would Live spend its power and chances to make your dirt shithole you call “existance” because of your inability to handle your problems and yourself, bright and peaceful?
Good guys finish last? Another funny joke. Look closely. Good guys never run with bad guys, because they’re smart enough to make money on those runs and laugh all the way through, knowing that everything’s already planned and his heart is safe with the one he really loves. So, it’s all just a joke. Except for sex, maybe.
And those songs people think of as of “love songs” or, worse, the “our” songs. What the fuck is “our” song? You were on the session? Played a part? Sang? Oh, you bought it online and uploaded on your player, so you could sing it in the car and mix it with kissing, annoying anyone in a range of sound (or sight, sometimes). Wow, lovely. Mazel tov, what can I say.
The thing is.. The thing is, there is Love. For every singe one. Black, white, yellow, brown, pervert, bisexual, asexual, loser, winner, worker, billionaire, king, queen, clown, cook, maid and whatsoever. Love – as a possibility of being happy. As a chance of triggering the right chain of right events leading you to someone who will make you more than you could’ve ever imagined – or just someone who will put your shit together when you’re unable to, say, due to alcohol or drug intoxication. Love is billions of faces and thousands of songs, hundreds of poems on hundreds of languages, it’s sex and passion, flame inside and acid revenge burning your face with H2SO4. Love is everything your imagination can make up – and twice as much, ten times much, hundred times much more. It’s hair and eyes that can’t let you sleep, it’s a snow and summer heat that makes you bleed (hopefully, not literally), it’s hidden sounds and echoes of silence…
So you understand why they say “love is dead”. We’ve replaced everything we’ve had with something we had invented – and looking everywhere for a clue, where such a great elephant could be hidden in such a small room of our world, caught in the wires and cabels, WiFi and satellite signals, completly lost within our own handmade simulation. And even though it gives us something we might’ve never had, there’s only one love in this world, and it’s not the one you could get for something-99 or making some sweet commentary on a website.
It’s just love. It’s both the best and the worst you might get into. It’s a drug, so legal you can barely find it, even though you can find thousands of things made to replace it.
Fuck you, if you really think they can. They never would.
There’s only one love in this world, and people will never learn how to make it just as the original was made. Except for runaway.
The rest is false. Fuck you, if they got you, made you bought their beliefs.
And fuck you twice, if you stole, or broke someone else’s love. FOAD, make the world a bit better.
There’s only one love. One. Love. And one only.
There’s only such thing that tears you down and thus making you so high, burning you to ashes – and yet making your soul a castle, a great castle reserved for two.
So, after all – why do I hate it? Because I tasted it, and it was so strong it made me addicted to it. It’s a “quiter” syndrome, if you want to put it so. And a broken castle where I sit in the middle of the ruin and everyday watch how screams get louder or disappear as another dream breaks up and finally gives its spirit away.
You should’ve seen this, but I will never let you in.”
Idie.
root 
[…] Pt.3 […]